


Bright-Shining as the Sun

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Superman for All Seasons, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-07
Updated: 2010-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lana Lang discovers that Clark Kent needs more from her than she realized.  From <i>A Superman for All Seasons</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright-Shining as the Sun

"Ow, Clark, that hurts!"

Clark pulled away from Lana, his face flushing, snatching his hand back and staring at it as if it had been burned.  "Oh gosh, I'm sorry," he stammered. 

Lana laughed and plucked a bit of straw from his dark hair.  "No biggie, Clark.  Don't panic.  It didn't really hurt, you just...surprised me."

Clark leaned forward to kiss her again, his Sunday suit straining across his shoulders as he put his arms around her.  Lana felt his hands on her back, slipping under the straps of her favorite daisy-print sundress, trembling against her bare skin. 

The barn was quiet except for the stamping of the horses and the quiet trilling of some bird outside.  It was early Sunday afternoon and Clark and Lana were just home from choir practice. 

Lana usually came over for Sunday dinner;  the Kents tactfully ignored the fact that Clark and Lana spent a lot of time in the barn on Sundays.  They trusted the two teens to behave themselves, and--some kissing and fully-clothed caresses aside--they always had.

"I couldn't bear it if I ever hurt you," Clark whispered into her hair.  "I don't ever, ever want to hurt you.  I don't want to...hurt anyone."  She could feel his breath stirring her hair as he exhaled sharply.  "God.  God, please, _no..."_

Lana was surprised to hear Clark take the Lord's name in vain, and more surprised to realize it sounded like a real prayer, fervent and and heartfelt.  Unsure how to respond, she pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him until they were both breathless.  "You're so beautiful, Lana," Clark murmured, kissing her freckled cheeks as if they were porcelain.  "You're like...like a princess.  A queen."

Lana chuckled against Clark's broad chest.  "A queen in a flowered sundress, Clark?"

"I mean it," Clark insisted, his voice hoarse.  "My beautiful queen."

Lana spread her hands on Clark's chest and pushed him back a bit, still laughing.  "Your queen, am I?  Then down on your knees before me, vassal!"

She had expected him to laugh along with her, but Clark went to his knees with a crash before her, shocking the laughter from her mouth.  His eyes were oddly hungry as they gazed up at her, though his mouth twitched in a smile.  "I'm yours to command, milady," he breathed.

Lana felt a flicker of...something...go through her, but she kept her voice light and playful.  "Oh, but can I trust a big strong boy like you to control himself?  I think not."  Half-jokingly, she snatched up a heavy leather bridle from a stack of hay nearby.  "Shall I tie you up to make sure, churl?"

Clark swallowed and Lana watched the white column of his throat move convulsively.  "Control," he whispered, almost to himself.  Then he met Lana's eyes again, smiling, the shadows in his blue eyes banished for sunlight once more.  "I think you might need to, lady."

It took two bridles to tie Clark's hands to iron hooks in the walls.  "Tight.  Make them tight," he muttered as Lana fussed with them.

"I'm a good Girl Scout, Clark, I know how to tie a knot."  Lana found herself giggling nervously as she tied Clark to the wall with his arms spread.  It was all more than a bit ludicrous, two straw-covered teens playing at some perverse game.  Eventually she stepped away to look at Clark, bound to the wall in front of her.  "There.  Now you'll _have_ to be a good boy and behave," she smirked theatrically.

"Yes," Clark said simply, looking at her, and Lana felt that lick of flame go through her again, unbidden.  "I have to behave."

Lana leaned forward and kissed him, marveling as always at how soft his lips were. Clark made a muffled sound against her mouth and twitched as if he wanted to touch her.  "No, no, no," she chided him, stepping back.  "No touching your queen.  No touching your mistress."  She giggled some more as she said it, but the look in his eyes caught the laugh in her throat and turned it into something like a gasp.  "You want to touch, don't you?"  Her voice was surprisingly husky.  Clark nodded avidly, staring.  "You want to touch _this_."  Lana ran her hands up her hips, feeling the lace eyelets under her hands, the embroidered daisies.  She cupped her breasts, caressing, part of her standing apart in shock at her own boldness.  "You want...to touch."  She felt breathless from her own touch and the look in Clark's eyes and was faintly surprised to hear herself moan sharply.

At the sound, Clark echoed her, abruptly yanking his hands forward. 

The sturdy leather of the bridles snapped like cobwebs at the movement, like they hadn't even been there.  Bits of metal careened around the barn, making small _tinging_ noises into the sudden total silence. 

Lana stared in shock, her hands still on her breasts, unable to believe what she had just seen.  Clark was a strong boy, but _no one_ was that strong...  "Clark...?"

Clark stared down at his hands, at the bits of leather hanging from them, then looked up at Lana, his eyes filled with a sudden and unfathomable anguish.  He crashed heavily onto his knees once more, staring at her with desperate appeal.  "Lana," he choked.  "I can control it, I know I can.  Help me.  Help me...to be good, to control it, control myself.  I want to be good, Lana!"

Lana stood, speechless, staring down at the boy she had known all her life, his bright blue eyes pleading.  She had no idea what was going on here, what had just happened, what secret demons Clark was dealing with.  She wanted to drop to her knees beside him and gather him in her arms, cradle him close, whisper reassurances.

But she knew Clark needed her, and for him...for him she could do anything.

Taking a deep breath, she tossed her hair back, setting her mouth in a grim line.  Then she placed one small, sandal-clad foot squarely on Clark's chest, pushing him back against the wall with a faint _thump._  Schooling her voice to be firm, trying to echo the tone of her Sunday-school teachers, she announced, "Control?  Nothing I've seen about you says you can _control_ yourself, Clark.  And a man without control--that's just pathetic."

"Yes," Clark whispered hoarsely.  "Pathetic." 

The sorrow in his eyes wrung Lana's heart unbearably, but she shook her head and glared at him critically.  "You'll never be good, Clark.  Not unless you learn to behave yourself."  She jerked her chin upward.  "Stand up."

He did so, his shoulders slumped and eyes cast down.  Lana stalked up to him, grabbing another bridle and pushing him against the wall, looping the leather in a loose knot around his left hand and binding him to the wall, leaving his right hand free.  She stepped back to examine him, her hands on her hips.  "A man with no _control_ would break those knots easily.  I'm sure you could.  But you won't."

"Will you punish me if I do?"  Clark's voice was low.

Lana shook her head.  "That would be too easy for you.  No, if you break that bridle I'll walk out of here and leave you alone, and you'll know that you're _worthless_, that you're _bad, _and that you'll _always_ be alone.  _Always._"

Clark made a small choking sound.  "Lana, no, please--"

"--Then _be good_!" she snapped, her heart aching, tears stinging the backs of her eyes.  She wasn't at all sure she could follow through on that threat, but she would deal with that if it happened.  She would...improvise, if Clark broke his bonds. 

She would trust that he wouldn't.

She stepped forward and undid his belt buckle, willing her hands not to tremble, pulling down his pants and then his underwear with brutal efficiency.  Trying not to stare at the sight of him, his strong thighs, his erection half-hard in a dark shadow of curling hair, she moved back again, leaning against a wooden support beam a few paces away. 

Clark's face was red, his eyes embarrassed and confused.  "Lana..."

She put her hands on her hips again, then slid then slightly forward, the fingers curving toward where her legs met.  "Touch yourself."

"Lana, I--"

"Don't argue with me!" she snapped.  "And you forget your place.  I am to be called your queen or your lady;  I am not to be called by my first name by some weakling."  On a sudden impulse, she stepped forward to where a shaft of light slanted in through a gap in the roof boards, letting the pool of radiance surround her.  She knew her white dress would blaze, knew the sun would turn her carroty hair into fiery gold.  Clark sucked in a breath as he looked at her, his eyes bright with something like awe, and Lana knew that whatever he was seeing it wasn't _her, _not his childhood friend and classmate Lana.  It was something else.

Something she had to try to be.

She tilted her head back and gazed at him disdainfully.  "You claim you can _control_ yourself.  Prove it.  Touch yourself, look at your mistress--and stay bound."

For a long moment Clark stared at her, his face flushed and his breath fast.  Then he breathed, "Yes, my lady," and put his free hand down, stroking.  His other hand, still tied to the hook on the wall, was shaking.

Lana watched in fascination as he stiffened under his own touch, his fingers circling and sliding, coaxing himself.  He made a small sound and she realized she had licked her lips.  His hand was so sure, strong yet gentle..."Do you think of me when you do this?"  she heard herself ask.

"Yes...mistress," he whispered, and his hand tightened slightly for a moment.

"You think of touching me?"

"Yes, mistress."  His eyes were half-closed, impossibly long lashes over sky-blue intensity.

"Touching me like this?"  She skimmed her hands back up over the daisy-strewn lace, caressing her breasts.  He groaned in assent and his bound hand clenched.  The leather creaked.

"You'll never touch me like this, Clark," she heard her own voice say distantly.  "Never again."  With a strange intuition she knew it to be true and felt grief well up in her alongside the lust, that this was the price she would have to pay to save him.  She would be the symbol of his control made flesh, inviolate, untouched.

It was worth it.

"My lady, my queen," he choked.  "I want to be good.  I _have_ to be good."  His erection was weeping fluid now;  his hand slipping faster, each stroke tearing a panting groan from him.  "Don't let me lose control, don't let me, don't let me be lost, alone..."  He flung his head back and stopped moving his hand, breathing heavily.  "I need...I need control."  He took a deep breath.  "So close, I'm so close, I want to come, my lady."

Lana leaned back against the wooden pillar.  Dimly she realized her panties were wet.  So much beauty and power, like lightning in the palm of her hand...Without really thinking, she hitched her skirt up, her hands sliding along her thighs.  "Not until I say so."  Her white cotton underwear slipped to the floor, damp curls under her hands; Clark's groan at the sight was like music.  _The power and the glory,_ she thought, and couldn't remember where the phrase was from.  "Not...before..."  The sight of Clark's body straining against his bonds--straining _not to break them_, she realized abruptly--his bare legs tense, hips tilted upward, thrusting into his broad, strong hand, was both arousing and distracting.  Shame nibbled at the edges of her consciousness (_Lana Lang, lead soprano in the church choir, half-naked, masturbating in a barn_) but she forced it away, forced herself to gaze on Clark, to keep her eyes narrowed regally.  She was panting, and what she saw in Clark's eyes was terrifying and thrilling at once as her orgasm swept over her, her head knocking back against the wood.  "Now, now, come now," she cried, and Clark obeyed.

The lightning in her hands.

Pulling up her underwear, shaking, she went to where Clark stood against the wall, trembling like a spooked horse.  Gently, gently, she unknotted the bridle, and Clark sank to his knees.  "I'm...I'm okay?" he whispered.  "I didn't...I didn't..."

Lana held up the unbroken bridle for him to see. "You did it, Clark.  You were strong enough."  He stared at it, his eyes suddenly bright with tears, threatening to well over.  She grabbed a maroon blanket and wrapped it around him, pulling his head to her shoulder.  "You're a good boy," she murmured into his hair, kissing his brow.  "I promise.  You'll always be a good boy, I know you will."  He made a small, broken sound and wrapped his arms around her.  They huddled like that, Lana rocking him gently, Clark's shoulders shaking, until they heard Clark's mother calling them in for dinner.

**: : :**

Lana held up her plate as Jonathan Kent put another slice of roast beef on it.  "Thank you, Mr. Kent," she said, smiling.  Clark's parents were talking about whether the tractor's brakes needed repairing now or if it could wait until the harvest was in.  On the floor behind Lana, Shelby's tail thumped softly.  The radio was on;  the strains of "Amazing Grace" filled the room.

"Clark, would you pass the salt?  Clark?  Clark?"  Martha Kent's voice was amused.  "That boy is daydreaming again."  Clark was staring out the window at the cloudless sky, listening raptly to the music.

_'Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear, and Grace my fears relieved...  _

__Lana reached out and touched Clark lightly on the arm.  "Clark?"  Clark started and looked at her.  "Be a good boy and pass your mother the salt."

Clark's smile at her was brilliant as he handed the shaker to his mother.  "Thank you, Lana," he said softly.


End file.
